Totenbett
by Indecisive Invalid
Summary: Prussia's dying - and he knows it. Still, he hides it from everyone until he no longer can. Includes flangst, character death.
1. Chapter 1

Dissolution. It's just sugar-coating death. When one's country is gone, '_dissolved_', as the allies and their bosses would kindly label it, then the representative exists only in history. When the people, whose heartbeats you could hear in your own mind suddenly disappear, what do you do?

Prussia knew this would happen, but wasn't sure when. He was prepared, though.

Ever since the Berlin wall collapsed and East and West Germany merged, the fair-skinned ex-nation knew that his days were numbered. He hid his apprehension behind smiles and an inflated ego, and disguised his growing anxiety with cheap beer, vodka and German cigarettes.

His brother and friends blamed the man's change in attitude on their snowy neighbour, Russia. Others, such as Russia himself, simply ignored the accusations sent their way. As the German people continued to merge into a more unified _Germany_, Prussia could feel his heart being ripped into shreds, one citizen at a time. The abnormal transfer of souls from one's consciousness to another; for the receiver, it's pure bliss. For the pillaged, it's like having a foundation ripped out from under you. His brother never had to experience such cruel pain; since he was receiving new citizens, he was on cloud nine, quite unlike his brother. While Germany busied himself with paperwork and bubbly Italians, Prussia locked himself up in his room during all hours of the day, writhing in pain.

When a country's dissolved, they change both mentally and physically. When the consciences of the citizens change mediums, the original will act completely out of character, and would snap out at another nation, unprovoked or not, were they not held back by their physical despair. The sense of abandon rears its ugly head and takes its victim kicking and screaming into the innermost depths of their mind, leaving insanity to fill in the gaps.

As the nation loses more and more citizens and land, two very different things happen: pain and change. Their heart will start to shatter; each segmented fragment will represent someone lost. The pieces will then stab violently at whatever remains, causing even more to be relinquished. At this point, there is absolutely no sanctuary for the victim.

When a country gains territory, men, or power, they change drastically. The reverse is also true. The more a country loses, the more feeble they become. They lose a stick-straight posture, lose the strength to tow vehicles, and if it gets too bad, they are eventually unable to control their limbs and waste away wherever they fell. It would last until their body can no longer function and they end up dying.

Prussia was no exception to these rules. He could feel his sanity slipping away quite quickly, now. His physical trauma was not far behind. He had locked his door ages ago and stayed in his bed. His legs and arms felt too heavy to move, but the pain in his chest urged him to curl up in a ball anyway. It was humane instinct, to curl up into fetal position to abate as much pain as possible.

He had absolutely no notion of time any more. The battery of the clock on the wall was weeks dead. He realized with dread, however, that his suffering was coming to a close. And not in a good way; things would only get worse from here. If he could pass on with just a shred of his sanity intact, however... he would then die happy.

The one thing he would regret is not telling his brother; while he was powerful, proud, intelligent, and hard-working, Germany was in no way experienced with nation deaths. He childishly thought that his brother would be here forever, that nothing bad could _ever_ happen to big brother Prussia.

_Well, West, looks like you were wrong. _Prussia would have scoffed had he the energy.

Now that he thought about it, just how long had it been since he had last seen Germany? He knew the blonde was fine. Hell, if he didn't have any restraint, he would have probably had a grand gala and would have invited all of Europe to the gathering.

There was minute comfort in knowing that the younger couldn't feel what his brother felt; hopefully, Germany would be the last representative of the Germanic people for a long time. Over the years, the place had four or five nations to represent their people. Now united, Germany was hopefully the last.

As the Prussian laid in his bed and reflected on the past, present, and future, he failed to hear the frantic knocking of his brother at the door. Or, rather, all of his senses were increasingly dulled, so now he was practically deaf.

When Germany finally had enough of the silence emanating from his brother's room, he tore the handle off of its perch and slammed the door wide open. At first, his eyes gleamed with irritation at being interrupted from his blissful sanctuary in his office – but when Italy had burst in, more or less demanding that Germany check on his brother (whom neither had seen for over three days), the blonde ended up having to give in. Now, as he saw the pitiful state his brother was in, the annoyance quickly evaporated into worry and he was at Prussia's side in an instant, rolling him over so they could meet eye-to-eye. As he was flipped around, a whine rose in the elder's throat and escaped in a pathetic burst of pain. He tried to curl up into a tighter ball but Germany took his hands and stretched them out, trying to figure out where it hurt the most, and he wouldn't be able to properly check with the albino's limbs in the way.

He could see his brother shouting something, but everything sounded distant and jumbled. It was like he was suspended in water, and any noise around him was muffled while the weight of the Earth from above pushed on his chest. It was almost serene, as it felt like the pain, which had been unbearable earlier, was finally tamed just enough for Prussia to move a little bit.

In ignoring his brother's frantic questions (What's wrong? Are you okay? Where does it hurt?), Prussia found the energy to snap a foot out at his brother to roll over. He pressed his face into the pillow, already warm from his body heat, and murmured 'go away' before trying to sink deeper in the bed. He didn't want his brother around right now, and if Germany couldn't respect that then Prussia would kindly show him the way out.

Germany, in the meantime, didn't know what to do. Prussia's foot caught him in the side of the head but the blonde barely felt anything. It felt like there was absolutely no energy behind the flailing limb. Which, of course, prodded Germany to worry even more. For as long as he could remember, his big brother always had energy to spare. To see Prussia in such a deplorable state was ridiculously alarming.

When Germany failed to follow his brother's muffled commands, Prussia could feel the anger welling up in his chest. He was _dying_ and his stupid, stubborn little brother couldn't leave him alone for a few measly hours? Since he lacked the energy to kindly tell his brother to _get the fuck out_, he instead opted to press his face harder into the pillow, thinking that maybe if Germany thought he was trying to suffocate himself he would listen and go away.

Still no dice. This only served as the catalyst of Prussia being treated like a bag of potatoes. He was hefted upwards by the waist and ended up being perched on the edge of the bed, with Germany standing in front of him trying to figure out what the problem was. He had both hands on his brother's shoulders and Prussia was leaning forward _ever so slightly._ Throughout this, Prussia kept his eyes shut tight, knowing that the vibrant ruby hues that he used to be blessed with would be dulled and, hell, for all he knew, he was blind now.

_"Brother, look at me._"The strong, deep tenor of Germany's vocals cords rumbled in pleads, still muffled by Prussia's jaded hearing. He whined a soft 'no', refusing to face what could make or break his resolve about actually being alone.

He could feel the stress building up in his chest now, right next to the stabbing of his heart. But this was a different kind of throbbing, it was more of an emotional throb. The throbbing one feels when they're anxious, nervous, or just way too excited about something. And right now, his anxiety about Germany finding out just what was happening was becoming unbearable.

Two things happened at the same time.

First, Germany removed his hands from their shoulder-y perch to rub his temples in exasperation. His hands never reached the intended temples, instead stuck catching the Prussian who had suddenly tilted forward, his hair just barely brushing against Germany's jacket.

Then, Prussia suddenly burst out crying and sputtering and repeating one single, obscure phrase in a quiet, shaky voice that was notably unlike the way that he normally spoke. This embarrassed the younger greatly; he was very awkward when it came to comforting in the first place and he had just gotten used to it with Italy, who tended to have an emotional outburst at least once a day.

But his brother was different. In all of his memories, Germany could recall only one other time when his brother shed tears. Even when his brother had come back after the wall was knocked down, while Germany could feel his own tears building up, not a single tear had been shed by the albino. He grinned, hugged his brother, and loudly announced that he'd pay for all of the beer that night. And it was so _Gilbert _that Germany never thought about it.

But the quaking mass in his arms- was it actually his brother? He seemed so small and breakable- he was almost afraid to move anywhere. His throat had constricted itself and Germany could barely force the words out of his mouth before Prussia started sobbing harder.

"Please, Prussia, please tell me what's wrong!"

"No! You'll..." The rest of the phrase was muffled beyond recognition thanks to the coat that Prussia had pushed his face against. Germany took his brother's shoulders and pushed them back to face startled ruby irises. They quickly blinked themselves shut while Prussia whined inconsolably once more. He seemed to be absolutely mental today- one second he was trying to kick his brother out of the room and the next he was a sobbing mess. While still worried, Germany also felt the tell-tale need of a cold beer. He pushed his brother back on the bed (and Prussia curled into himself instantly) and told him he was leaving, just like the elder wanted.

And then Prussia was wailing even harder, constantly trying to tell him he was sorry, that he was a horrible big brother, but please, don't leave him alone. And he was quite suddenly blubbering nonsensically, but the words 'I'm sorry I'm dying' stood solidly out of the background. And when Prussia realized just what he said, he fell eerily silent, his eyes wide open, gauging his brother's reaction. Germany stood there, horror-struck for several seconds before he suddenly enveloped Prussia in a tight hug and refused to let go.

"West-"

"Please, just- just don't talk." Germany relished in the feeling of simply being near his brother, not wanting to miss another second of being with him. Initially tensing, Prussia slowly relaxed in his brother's hold, and it was like he could _feel_ his sanity returning somewhat with his brother there. Simply being near someone- maybe that's what was helping. His heart hadn't clenched painfully, either, which was a blessing in itself. It was too soon for him to say he was going to be okay, but maybe he'd be able to die with Germany next to him.

It lasted several moments of the two sitting there, with Prussia's eyes puffy and red but hidden, and Germany simply holding on to his brother, before the younger of the two spoke up.

"How long?" Prussia lifted his face from its perch on his brother's shoulder to look Germany in the eye.

"Not long." Right after he said that he dropped his head back down, allowing Germany to play support for a while. There was another lapse of silence, where the red around Prussia's eyes gradually faded back into the pale complexion that was normal for his brother. Germany, in the meantime, was mulling over this information. He unconsciously rubbed circles on Prussia's back with one hand while the other kept his brother plastered to him.

His brother was dying.His big brother, who had spent twenty years under Russian rule to protect the younger blonde, was going to be dead soon. Which meant that, instead of East and West Germany, there would be one single, unified Germanic nation. Was Germany unconsciously killing his own brother? Stuck in his own mind, he failed to notice that his brother had looked up again.

Prussia tapped Germany's cheek lightly, startling the burly blonde enough to make him jump a little. He blinked rapidly to clear his head and curled his arms tighter around his brother. He didn't want to lose him yet- not ever. Maybe if he stayed here forever, Prussia would have no choice but to stay... it was a childish desire, but Germany was young by nation standards and was in no way ready to part with his elder brother-mentor-father-figure, whatever he was.

"Stop thinking so hard West... it'll just make things harder for the both of us." _And I don't want your crying face to be the last thing I see._ It wasn't something that his pride allowed him to voice, but Germany seemed to understand what Prussia was hinting at when the albino wiped away the tears that were preparing to make themselves known with a quivering hand. He sniffed meekly once before sobering up.

"So, um... I'm sorry." Prussia blinked stupidly at his brother's admission and cocked his head to the side.

"For what, West?" Germany bit his lip guiltily and turned away, murmuring in a deep tenor,

"For... ignoring you."

The throaty chuckle of his brother caught him off guard, and Germany snapped his head back around in confusion. Prussia's eyes were closed and he was leaning against his brother's chest, but he was laughing gleefully and Germany found that this kind of upset him. When Prussia opened his eyes once more and looked up at his brother, they seemed filled with so much more life than they held in the past years.

"Don't worry about it, West." The brothers sat in silence for a while longer, until Prussia's heart clenched once more. Germany felt his brother stiffen below him and he hugged him tight. He rocked the two of them back and forth gently, while humming silently. After a bit more time where Prussia was still tense, the elder uneasily pulled away from the younger.

"You can stay if you want, West, but- I just need to lay down." He set his own head down on the pillow and curled back into a ball, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

"I'm not going anywhere." Germany remained perched on the bed and took one of Prussia's hands, where he gently rubbed the back of it. His brother relaxed beneath the welcoming touch, Germany's own lids slipping shut for a few moments.

After another lapse of silence, Prussia spoke up once more.

"I didn't want to see you, y'know that?" Germany paused in the gentle rubbing to peer at Prussia. The albino's eyes were cloudy, and his lids constantly fluttered as he fought to stay awake and survive.

"And why is that?" Prussia pursed his lips and hummed lightly, not bothering to answer the inquiry. Instead, he closed his eyes and buried his nose into the pillow. Germany, still feeling slightly put-off by his brother's behaviour, but knew that it was acceptable, considering their situation, shimmied slightly closer to his brother. Both began humming quietly to an old German tune; one that Prussia used to sing to Germany.

There was no noise apart from that for a long time. After about twenty minutes, however, Prussia's steady humming had fallen into silence. When Germany finally noticed, his brother was on his back and staring at the ceiling. His eyes were glazed over, his sightless gaze half-lidded.

It felt like his heart was shattering. Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he slid off the bed and knelt next to it instead. He took one of Prussia's hands and held it between his, sniffling slightly as the tears cascaded freely down his face.

He was frustrated. Frustrated and confused. He knew his brother wasn't a saint – none of them were, really. So why did his brother have to be the one to die? He wasn't the one responsible for any great massacres, or starting any wars. So why did it have to be Prussia? Why was it him that had to suffer? Germany inhaled shakily, his own breath hitching when his brother's sightless eyes met his own with precise accuracy.

"H-hey now... is my little West crying?" His voice was so quiet, it was like he was gone already. Taken away to wherever the other ancients were. Would he be ridiculed, for dying so young? Pitied? Would he be happy? Germany truly hoped so; Prussia was an amazing elder brother.

And he told him so.

Prussia cracked a weak smile and squeezed one of Germany's hands slightly. The younger blonde responded with a squeeze just as tight, himself trying to smile, despite his brother's recent lack of vision. Another pair of hands came up next to his and circled themselves around; they were significantly smaller than Germany's own, or even Prussia's.

He looked over to see Italy, who was smiling silently despite the tears running down his eyes. Prussia, too, seemed to have felt the Italian's presence as he tilted his head around slightly; in the wrong direction, which he quickly rectified when Italy spoke up, own voice quiet and smooth. He was far too used to losing people.

"Is it already time for you to go?" Germany bit his lip and lowered his head; he knew the response, but didn't want to see his brother's face when he said it. Prussia had simply accepted it by now. He knew the outcome wasn't going to change.

"... yeah. Take care of West for me, okay? I can't... won't be around to keep an eye on him. So you need to make sure that he gets out sometimes..." His voice trailed off as his smile faded slightly.

"Of course." With a grateful sigh, Prussia took to staring straight ahead once more as Germany fought to regain his composure, and ultimately failed. Instead, he cried against his brother's and Italy's hands.

Time passed silently. Italy was the first to notice.

Prussia's chest had stopped its steady rise and fall, his eyes no longer blinked sluggishly. The smile had died on his lips slightly, leaving a bit of an awkward curve rather than the weak grin he originally had. Silently, the brunette reached over and closed his eyes gently. Germany, startled by Italy's sudden movement, finally noticed his brother. How his heart no longer beat, how his lungs no longer moved.

His sobs died in his throat and he stared as Italy closed his eyes. Those unseeing ruby irises, staring into a void like only the dead could... he couldn't stand it. He looked away, and allowed his brother's hand to flop onto the bed – limp as a ragdoll. Silently, Italy took his arm and splayed the fingers across his stomach; it seemed more like he was sleeping. After all, Prussia didn't die. Couldn't die.

Italy turned to Germany, and quietly hugged the grieving blonde. Immediately he was hugged to his chest, the blonde sobbing into the smaller male's shirt.

"Ve, it's okay..." He quietly rubbed the German's back as he began to babble nonsensically about his brother. He was in such a state of shock that it broke Italy's heart; he wasn't made to break; but here he was. Broken, trembling, sobbing Germany. Italy hugged him tight and stood up with the German, quietly bringing him out to the living room where he sat him down, but not before taking one last glace back at the deceased nation. He quietly leaned over to call Austria, as the German nation buried himself deeper into Italy's side.


	2. Chapter 2

Austria had been surprised, to say the least, when he received a call from Italy. Even worse, he heard sobbing at the other end. When he asked what was going on, all he got was a "come over with Hungary" before the line went dead, the sound of sobs ringing in his head for a long while afterwards.

When he and Hungary finally suited up (the latter was curious beyond words as to what was going on) and the two of them were standing in front of Germany's door, Austria could hear the crying again. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door while Hungary bobbed around excitedly behind him – both blissfully unaware. Italy was there after a few moments, opening the door and letting the two in before disappearing into the living room. The others joined him quickly.

When they saw Italy go back and hug Germany, whose eyes were rimmed with red, all enthusiasm about the visit was dispelled. They approached and each sat on one side of the two; Hungary took to rubbing Germany's back softly as Austria stared, uncomprehending. Germany was a strong nation – very few things could actually make him cry, especially considering his brother had recently been released from Russia's grasp. Italy was humming quietly as he held the sobbing nation and rocked him back and forth. They were silent for a while until Germany calmed down; he pulled away from Italy slightly and rubbed at his eyes, trying vainly to remove the splotches of red that had blossomed over his face.

"S-Sorry, I..." Italy smiled and placed a finger over the German's lips, effectively calming the blonde's uncharacteristic stuttering.

"There's no need to be sorry. I'd have handled that much worse, ve~" He stood up, as did Austria and Hungary – the latter of whom had started looking worried as well. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she bit her lip, her hands fumbling with the long dress that she wore nervously.

"I'll just go show them, okay? You stay here." Numbly, the blonde nodded and shielded his face. Smiling sadly, Italy left the room and made sure that Hungary and Austria were following him before he stood at the front of a closed door, his hand held over the doorknob shakily. His smile had died away and there were tears in his eyes, as he stood there for several moments before turning to Austria.

"I-I'm sorry, but I can't open it... can you?" He moved away to let Austria take his place. The anxiety in the atmosphere was getting to him now, too, and his hand shook slowly as he turned the doorknob and allowed the door to swing open in a silent arc. The scene before him shook Austria to the core.

For there, lying on the bed, was Prussia. Unseeing. _Unmoving_.

He approached the corpse slowly, disbelieving, uncomprehending. Hungary and Italy stood in the doorway. Italy had his head turned away, making no move to see around Austria' frame. Hungary, on the other hand, was still blissfully unaware of what waited inside. She stood behind him with her gaze fixed on Italy. Austria's eyes traced the contours of Prussia's face, his motionless fingers, his blue lips. Everything about it was just so _wrong_. He wasn't dead – he couldn't be. Prussia was an obstinate bastard, how the hell could a small merge kill him off?

... But it did.

Choking back his own tears, Austria wheeled around to face Italy and Hungary. Italy was crying openly again, his arms circling Hungary's wait as she hugged him back uncertainly, unaware of the problem. Well, she knew that there was a problem – otherwise she wouldn't be surrounded by crying nations everywhere – but she had yet to see the _true reason_.

Austria bit his lip. Oh god. It was true. It was all true. No wonder Italy called him. He inhaled shakily before calling to Hungary, who approached with Italy still clinging to her waist. She stopped right before she could see his face, but her eyes traced along the horribly pale pallor of Prussia's skin. The male had always been thin; but it was now at the point where his bones jutted out in his legs and arms; his fingers were no longer a graceful kind of long, but were now far too thin to be healthy. But _of course_ he wasn't healthy. Austria moved away so that Hungary could get a good look at Prussia's face. Her eyes widened considerably almost immediately and her hands on Italy's back shook.

"P-Prussia...?" Her voice was unsure, scared. Carefully, she pried Italy off of her (he then proceeded to cling to Austria) and knelt next to him. She took a finger and poked him in the cheek, smiling slightly when his head lolled to the side. The smile faded when he failed to respond, however. She took the hand that had previously been placed over his stomach, squeezing it lightly. He didn't squeeze back.

The hand was cold. _Far too cold. _It was inhumane to see him like this. Just what was going on? Why was he like this? Still holding onto the deceased nation's hand, she sat on the bed with one knee on and the other dangling on the ground. She ran a hand through his hair – still clean, she noted humourlessly. Austria sat on the opposite side, his hand wavering uncertainly above the body. Italy was on the ground, eyes wide open as the tears continued to cascade. He made no effort to stifle them.

They passed the next while in silence. Hungary constantly stroked Prussia's hair, even as her arm became numb. Austria memorized the very shape of Prussia's body, his hand eventually reaching out to take Hungary's. The brunette didn't notice. Eventually the lithe Italian turned his head down to the floor and rubbed half-heartedly at his tears. Finally, it was Austria who broke the silence.

"He's smiling..." He noted quietly. Hungary looked over and saw that, indeed, Prussia was smiling. It wasn't the cocky grin that they were used to, more like an uncharacteristic tilt. The muscles were seemingly frozen in place. Hungary's heart clenched painfully at the familiar curve of the lips, and she hastily pulled her hand out of Austria's grasp to rub at the tears collecting there with her sleeve. As they began falling more and more, the brunette began sobbing and she launched herself as Austria, burying her face in his chest as she cried, her hands crumpling the fabric of the male's shirt. Austria, as well, was crying. He made no effort to stop them and took to petting Hungary's hair, hands trembling as he did so.

It had taken a while to sink in, but when it did, it hit everyone hard. Hungary and Austria, two of the nations closest to the albino, were horror struck. France and Spain had yet to be called. Or Canada, or anyone, really.

To realize that there were no more late-night visits, housing a drunk albino as he passed out on the couch, listening to him ramble on about anything and everything... Austria realized he'd miss it. More so than he thought he ever would. They'd all grown too used to the thought that nations lived forever, and this was a horrible reminder that they didn't. They died, they always did.

Gilbert was such a large part in the lives of others, yet they didn't realize it until his death. They'd taken his rediscovered presence for granted. No one bothered to ask what was really wrong. No one bothered to realize that he was hurting. Never thought to question him. Even after he went missing for three days, he was alone until almost the very end, sanity and health slowly withering away. Like the petals on a flower.

But Prussia wasn't around any longer and Hungary found herself wondering just _how_ life would go on. She had known him for thousands of years. It was as though a large part of what made her days so special was gone – and it was true. There would be no more anomalies during the day. No more drunken slurs or laughs. She hiccupped harshly and pulled away from Austria, glancing at Prussia, forever frozen in time.

"Gilbert, I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry!" She laid down next to the prone form and wailed desperately, tears soaking into the fabric of Prussia's shirt. Italy soon joined her, pressing himself against Hungary's back, chorusing her cries. Austria wiped at his tears and stood up awkwardly, not sure what to say or do. He opted for gently taking Italy in his arms as though he was a child once more and cradled him; the Italian latched onto him like a baby.

Eventually the door downstairs slammed open, and all three of them jumped. Italy had sprung up from Austria's arms and fell backwards, and Hungary pulled away from the albino's body, eyes rimmed red. The Italian quickly stood up and stammered helplessly, eyes darting around feverishly. He quickly fled the room to go check on Germany. Austria went out to go see who was here at this hour.

Hungary remained with her dead best friend. She picked his head up and put it on her lap, stroking the white fringe he had been so well known for. An anomaly among anomalies. How fitting was it, that he was the first to go?

France and Spain stood at the door to the living room, looking rather unsettled. They had just witnessed Germany break down in Italy's arms once more, and they couldn't understand why. When Austria garnered their attention, both of them noted that his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were also rimmed with red.

Hungary's cries in the background did nothing to soothe them.

Spain's voice shook as he spoke, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt. France, however, was more wary and his eyes lit up in horror. He gasped silently and held his hands to his mouth, entire form trembling. Austria inclined his head slightly and led the two away.

Hungary's body hid the prone corpse, but Spain and France quickly pushed forward – the Spaniard dragged the Frenchman along by the sleeve as France stared at the bare feet lying on the bed limply, stupefied. It took Spain longer to register, but when he did he became horrified and burst out crying _right there_, sinking to the floor in agony. France joined him soon after; they huddled on the floor together and wept. The brunette clung to the Frenchman's shirt, hiding his face in his chest as he sobbed. France's fingers and arms shook as he hugged Spain back, glancing pleadingly at Austria.

The Austrian nodded and pulled Hungary up from her position, pulling her out of the room silently. France brought Spain along as well, and the six of them made themselves comfortable on the two couches, Italy and Germany on one with the other four on the other.

They all grieved in harmony until Spain, the last to stop crying, had calmed down once more. France pet his hair, looking pensive. Finally, he expressed the same thought that was on everyone's mind: _What now?_ It was Austria who finally spoke up, and eyed Germany as he did so. The blonde had begun acting like a small child again, hiding his face in Italy's shoulder as the Italian pet his hair gently. His hair, which was normally gelled back into a militaristic design, hung in front of his face in loose strands. He appeared far younger than normal.

"I think he deserves a funeral..." France and Spain hummed their approval, and Hungary nodded absently, eyes glazed over as she reminisced. Austria held her gently.

"It sounds like a good idea, ve~" Italy spoke for both him and Germany. So the decision was unanimous; no one had any qualms about hosting a funeral for the recently departed Prussia.

They spent hours making funeral plans; who to invite, where it would be hosted, where they'd bury Prussia. Germany had openly fled the room several minutes before talking about the burial; the others didn't dare object. The blonde no longer had who he cherished the most, and it tore him apart, hearing that the last of his family – _the only portion of it that he remembered_ – was gone. He didn't want to be around for the final goodbye – not yet.

Once the preparations were complete, they split up. Italy went to stay with Germany in his room while France took control of the kitchen. Austria went to the albino's bedroom to take care of and cover up Prussia's body, while both Hungary and Spain were outside. The Spaniard went looking for materials to make a coffin (they wanted this to be an authentic burial; everything was going to be handmade) and tombstone, while Hungary was looking for Prussia's grandfather's and favourite leader's graves, as everyone knew that Prussia would want to be right next to them.

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><p>I know I'm a month late but shh~<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **I don't normally write these, but I think it's a little necessary to do it here.

I'm sorry, a hundred times over, for my lateness with this. ;_;

Life's just been one big test since December and I've just gotten a couple of days off to actually do something.

I don't feel like this chapter was as well written as the other two. ;-;

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><p>The sun shone high in the sky, beating down a valley in the middle of nowhere. Two gravestones sat back-to-back, each covered with moss and looked as ancient as they were. Germania's grave was a dull slab of stone and the text on it, his name and date of death written in an elegant, almost sad scrawl that had been kept in miraculous condition for a very long time. Until recently. A rusted sword sat perched on it, the hilt, which was originally a deep mahogany hue had faded into more earth-bound tones. There was a small bump in front of the grave, though not something one would notice unless they were looking for it.<p>

The grave touching it was far more decorative; the edges were far smoother, as though they were carefully sanded day in and day out. There was a border of wilted rose petals and crosses circling the outside of the tombstone. The writing was even more desolate, where it dipped and curved at odd places, as though one's hand shook as they carved it out. The dirt beneath it was flat, as though the soil had never been dug up. On it, the name was _'Friedrich II von__ Preußen'. _A remarkably familiar cross, rusted with age, hung off the ledge of the tomb. On the back was the faded image of an eagle.

Germany recognized the graves almost immediately. His brother had never been one to express his regret over their grandfather Germania. To Germany, he'd always seemed like someone that once was, something like a fairytale. Like his existence didn't matter in the end. Prussia always says – said – that he was too awesome to be altered by anyone else's unawesome opinions. Except Old Fritz – no one was as awesome as Old Fritz.

That thought led him to the second tombstone. The only man whom Germany had ever seen his brother cry over. Not even Bismarck, the man who had given Germany a reason _to be_, had such an effect as his brother. Prussia didn't cry. Big brother Gilbert never cried.

Oh, how he idolized him. But now he was gone. Gone forever. He hated to think that the pale man, with his snowy hair and glazed ruby eyes that were now shut softly, as though he were sleeping... he hated to think that that was his brother. His brother was strong, immortal, and _he wasn't dead_. But no matter how often he told himself that, the hollow feeling in his heart lied to his head.

His brother was gone.

A twitter of yellow caught the attention of the small crowd of nations gathered in the field; no one had seen Gilbird in weeks. The creature looked unhealthily small and it was missing small patches of feathers as it floated down and rested on its old master's chest. It gave a weak, barely audible chirp, before it nuzzled down and closed its eyes.

It didn't move after that.

Italy was the one to step forward and he did so slowly, hesitantly. One hand reached out to stroke the bird's back while the other clutched Germany's hand as he stared, disbelieving. The Italian gave a squeak of surprise as he retracted his hand immediately, both nations watching with wide eyes as the feathers that Italy's fingers raked over fell around the bird in a scattered pile. The once golden feathers no longer shined and sparkled. It blinked its eyes open once more and stared at Germany with beady, dull eyes, but only for a second. It flopped to the side moments later, no longer breathing.

No one said anything or moved for several moments. Germany stared at the deceased bird with wide eyes. This was further proof that his brother was gone. Gilbird was like Gilbert's soul, and the last part of him just died. He hiccupped and failed to repress a sob, instead grabbing Italy and holding onto him tightly, burying his face in his chest.

No one felt okay anymore. Gilbert was like a ray of sunshine to all of the nations around him. Nearly everyone present was paired into groups of two, of which one would help comfort the other. Italy was there mostly for Germany, as the nation couldn't even handle glancing at a wurst before bursting into tears. Austria and Hungary were there for each other. The female nation had been almost as slow to grasp the concept of her best friend's death as his brother had been, both sobbing equally hard.

Romano was there for Spain and, for once, did not act angry or exasperated. He simply held the Spaniard as he cried on his shoulder, glancing every once in a while at France or at Italy.

France was a mess. As strong as he acted, and as perverted as he seemed, he was also a true friend. He couldn't handle the loss of one of his best friends, one of the only people he truly trusted. He'd made so many mistakes in life, and he made so many enemies, and he hated himself for letting Prussia suffer alone. He'd been too busy flirting, thinking his friends were safe and fine and that they had all the time in the world.

It broke him that much more. On the time that wasn't spent doing paperwork or planning his best friend's funeral, he cried and drank. Eventually England had had enough and took care of the Frenchman, ensuring that he ate properly and all alcohol was evicted from the house. Within forty-eight hours France had broken down into a sobbing mass in the Briton's arms, screaming his regrets, pleading for Prussia, wherever he was, to forgive him.

Spain was even more heartbroken. Naturally sensitive, he became a walking corpse doing his daily chores. When South Italy found him two days later, he'd screamed at him and then made him some soup. The Spaniard had sobbed, wailed, and spent days immersed in photo albums and videos, crying over every happy memory and wailing over every sad one. He hung a copy of his best friend's old flag in his bedroom, the black and white eagle presiding over an entire wall in his room. Romano held him every night and skipped his siestas to make sure that Spain ate, and that the nightmares that plagued him at night were successfully repelled day after day.

America and Canada were there as well, though for once the Canadian was noticed. Prussia was one of the only nations who'd go out of his way to communicated with him and he'd been glad to get up at three in the morning to make the drunk albino some pancakes when he stormed into his house drunk. It made him feel wanted, needed. He held onto his brother tightly and watched the casket forlornly with sad eyes, as he didn't trust himself to actually step up just yet.

When the time for speeches came, Germany was the first one up. He fiddled with the cuff of his jacket sleeve as he stood there with a portable microphone, voice quiet and shaky as he spoke.

"Prussia was – is – my brother. He... he's the best brother I ever knew. Sometimes I... would get angry at him. For becoming a slob, or... mooching off of me. But I think that he knew. That he always knew. And... h-he just wanted to be close to us. He didn't want us to be hurt." He took a moment to wipe at his eyes as her took out a single dark pink rose, holding it out for everyone to see.

"I just... want to say thank you, Gilbert. For always being there for us, even when we hurt you, and even when we pushed you away. Thank you." He gently slid the rose in between his brother's fingers, before pulling away sadly. He fought another wave of tears and held onto Italy tightly, handing the microphone to Spain quietly. France stood beside him and they both took out their own roses, a golden yellow colour this time, as bright and radiant as the sun.

"Prusia, Francia and I were the best of friends. I'd always thought that nothing could separate us, but..." He chuckled quietly and coldly, staring down at the deceased nation.

"It's been a long time since any of us died. I think we've forgotten how vulnerable we really are, and how lucky a lot of us are to still be alive today." There was a quiet murmur of agreement, specifically around the older nations. France took his chance to speak into the microphone, his voice oddly quiet and distant.

"There was nothing more important to Gilbert than his friends and family. He sacrificed everything for us, yet we gave very little back. I've been unable to say it up until now, alors _je suis désolé, _Prusse. I sincerely hope that wherever you are, you can forgive us and remember that we will always cherish your friendship." Simultaneously, both nations slid their roses in, one on each side of Germany's as they stepped back. Hungary was the next to speak as she gripped the microphone tightly, her knuckles turning white. Austria stood beside her silently, holding a white and a black rose, their two stems twirled around each other.

"I met Prussia when we were still small children. He'd taunt me and we'd constantly fight. Back then, I was convinced I was a boy. We always had a love-hate relationship. He'd taunt me, and I'd hit him in retaliation. He'd tease Austria and I'd hit him with a broom or a skillet. We were always... sparring, I suppose you could say. It certainly wasn't fighting, not when we would laugh afterwards." She turned her head to the side and wipe away some tears before continuing.

"Prussia has always been my best friend, even though I've never wanted to admit it. But... I feel like I can say it now without worry. I loved you like a brother, Gilbert, and I'll miss you." Austria, choosing to stay silent, slid the intertwined roses in on one side before stepping away, gripping Hungary's hand tightly as they let Canada, the final guest, speak. In his pocket sat a blood red rose.

"I, um – oh dear – I'm sorry, I just..." He paused to wipe his glasses on his jacket before continuing.

"F-For those of you that don't know, I'm Canada. Prussia was... one of the very few nations that noticed me. He would come to my house at ungodly hours just for some pancakes. He was... one of a kind, but that's good, eh? So, um... I'd make him food, and gave him a place to stay the night. Eventually he kind of... took over my room."

"After spending decades in my brother's shadow it was nice to be considered useful, to be given a purpose. Prussia saved my life by raiding my kitchen every Friday night, and won one more thing. I've always been scared to say this, and I know I should have, but this is my last chance to see your face. Pru – Gilbert, I... I love you. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. You may have lived, then..." With a sad, resigned sigh, he placed the final rose in Prussia's breast pocket and stepped away, watching forlornly as England and Austria stepped forward, closing the casket. With America's help, they gently set it under his tombstone and began covering the coffin with dirt.

As the final pieces were packed down everyone gathered around the grave one last time, surrounding it in a semi-circle. It sat with its back to the other two graves, one half touching both Germania's and Old Fritz's. Another five roses of varying colours were planted on top of the grave in the shape of a pentagon. After another hour of silence passed, everyone went their separate ways to go back home.

Much later in the evening, as twilight was falling, Germany returned to his brother's grave. He pulled an object dangling on a chain out of his pocket and perched it against his brother's grave.

"You keep mine and I keep yours," He whispered.

"Now we'll always be connected. Even in death."

* * *

><p>If you want to know about the rose colours, and meanings, go here:<p>

kdn . org / roses / colors . asp


	4. Possible Sequel?

**Totenbett announcement!**

Indecisive Invalid here, hi. So, I'm glad to see how well this three-shot (I'm assuming those of you that read this have read them, at the very least) did. Now, I have a couple of things I would like to state:

I'm thinking on making a sequel. I won't give any spoilers, only that it's kind of like a game of role-reversal. You can send me a PM and I don't mind giving you a few more details. In this sequel, I'm already done about two chapters and ¾ of the next one. What's holding me back is a bit (a lot) of writer's block. Sometimes I know my finishing product, and my beginning product, but nothing in the middle. That's what happens when your characters run your story, though. So oh well. I'd like to hear your opinions on the sequel, though. You can just pop a review in or whatnot if you'd like. 

I'm thinking on making more one/three-shots like these, with other characters. A lot of them will follow the same format: someone dies, everyone mourns. Now, my problem is that there are too many possibilities. Here's where you guys come in (again). If there's anyone you'd like to see me kill off, or even just some sad/tragic/dramatic/romantic scenario you want me to try out, go ahead and PM me. Now, if it's for me to kill someone off and you want something specific to happen, do tell me. I do very much like drama, and I adore writing it. Otherwise, I'll become creative. And if there is anyone in particular you want me to show mourning, or how they're coping, tell me that, too. Also, if you're an anonymous reviewer, you can contact me at cymrulloegr at yahoo dot co dot uk.

I know it's kind of a long read for some announcement/author's note thingy, but I've been wanting to do this for a long time. So yeah. Feel free to PM me, or whatever. And if you want to be my beta reader, please do let me know! I'd love someone who can actually correct grammar!

Thanks for reading all of this,

Indecisive Invalid.

P.S. Never use open office if you write in multiple languages on it. It will always automatically switch to the language you use the least. (French, why aren't you similar to English. You're a pain to swap out every time I create a new document. ;_;)


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